Seated at the end of a table covered in various items, you sat before a cake; decorated in white and red icing. Behind you, stood your co-worker Fyodor Dostoevsky.

With one hand on your armrest, he leaned over the back of the chair closer to your ear, his breathing able to be both felt and heard.

You, like most normal people, went to eat the cake with a fork though Fyodor had other plans, he completely intended to hand feed you pieces of this cake.